Kiss
by GKingOfFez
Summary: He kisses her. She kisses him. Light, long, desperate, and he remembers each one. A collection of kisses. Can be any pairing, although written with my fem!Harry in mind.
1. Chapter 1

_Random thing I wrote late at night with Jamie and… someone else, in mind, though can be anyone, really. :P _

_Figured I may as well post. May do more._

…

He can smell her stinking breath on his face, the stench of alcohol and desolation upon it, and he imagines that his own breath is in a similar- if not worse- state, but he doesn't care. There's a desperation in her eyes, a hungry, unhinged, ravenous look that both scares him and fascinates him, and before he knows it, she's feasting upon his lips, pushing herself into him with a passion-fuelled determination.

If he had been in his right mind, he might have pulled back, taken a breath and asked her if this was what she really wanted. But as it happened, he was not in his right mind, and instead he pushed back with a rivalled eagerness, twisting his fingers into her messy hair. He moaned her name.

…

The kiss is barely that; a brushing of lips, a mere ghost of a promise. Short, sweet and slight, like her. The feeling lingers long afterwards.

…

His mind is nothing more than mush, having disintegrated into a goopy puddle after the third minute passed by. Tucked away from the world, they have all the time they could possibly want, and they are using it quite wisely. Lips meld together, fingers explore, twisting through hair and material and stroking across bare skin. He is vaguely aware that he has forgotten something, something quite important, but for the life of him, he can't work out what it is.

When they part, gasping, he suddenly remembers.

_Oxygen._

…

The kiss is desperate. She rushes to him, and he meets her half-way. Before he know what he is doing, he is grabbing her chin and crashing his lips into hers, movements rushed and passionate as he tries to tell her everything through that one, vital connection. It is too brief. She pulls away too soon, and suddenly she is gone.

…

Light, lingering, teasing. She doesn't just kiss his lips, but his nose, and his cheeks and his eyelids. She kisses everywhere on his faces, leaving trails of sugary sweetness all over until it seems like every inch of him is covered in it.

…

She is laughing and it is the sweetest sound. Her lips are stretched across her teeth, so fresh, so inviting. He gives in to temptation and swoops in to capture them.

…

It is the uncertainty in her face that breaks him. She stands before him, so small, so vulnerable, so unlike herself that he finds himself doubting everything he knows. He is tentative, leaning down with the same uncertainty in his soul, and has to restrain himself as he brushes his lips against hers, taking her hands in his. She does not recoil, just looks at him in confusion, before suddenly launching herself into him, ferociously claiming his mouth for her own.

…

Never mind that it is raining. Never mind that the water is coming downs in viscous waves, soaking them, their hair matted and clothes sticking to their bodies. They'll get sick for sure, but they don't care.

Her face is cupped in her hands, and his in hers, and they are leaning in, staring into the depths of each other's eyes. He licks the water from around her mouths, and she pulls a lock of hair out from his eyes.

They really should have brought an umbrella.

…

She is crying, and his heart is breaking at the sight. He cradles her in his arms, pulling her to his chest, whispering in her ear that everything is going to be all right. She is the one to kiss him, reaching out and pulling him in. Her lips are salty, and he can feel her trembling against him. His heart breaks even more.

…

She is on top. With a feral look, she descends upon him, attacking his lips with animalistic hunger, her legs straddling his chest. He responds with enthusiasm, grabbing onto her somewhat roughly by the arms for support.

…

The first time she draws blood from him, she gives him a horrified expression. The bite was a little too hard, and he brings his fingers up to his lips to investigate, drawing them away covered in the red stuff. He can feel a swelling coming on.

Already she is drawing away, but he holds her in place. He gives her a brief, reassuring peck, trying not to leave to much blood on her own lips, before holding his sleeve over the puncture. She smiles at him.

…


	2. Chapter 2

_Here we go, some more for you. Now I better do some homework. :P_

_Enjoy!_

…

She is giggling against his lips, and now he is giggling too, tiny shakes rippling through the bed. Their arms and legs are so entwined, so _connected_, he can barely tell whose is whose, but he doesn't care. He can smell her hair, soft and freshly washed against his face, her body wrapped around his as they roll along the bed, entangled together as one. They can no longer remember who started kissing who first, but it hardly matters. All that does is that, in that moment, they're happy.

…

The night has slowed down from an explosive beginning to a sluggish end. Adrenalin long-gone, energy sapped and eyelids begging to slide shut, they lie on the old couch in front of the fire, wearing nothing between them but a lovely warm blanket. He feels her slipping into sleep on top of him, feels the edges of tiredness beckoning at the corners of his own mind, but stops to pull her forehead to his lips and leaves them lingering there.

He pulls back only to whisper a quiet _'I love you'_ into her soft skin, before his grip slackens and his head rolls back, and he is overcome with welcoming darkness.

…

He hasn't washed in god knows how long, he hasn't slept (willingly, at least) and he hasn't eaten, besides the dinner that needed to be forced down his throat the night before. He feels disgusting and helpless amongst the cleanliness and order of the hospital, while before him on the bed, ghostly white, she sleeps. His head is buried into her hand, clutched desperately between his two larger ones, his rough, chapped lips murmuring useless words into her fingers, brushing against the too-cold skin.

'_Please,'_ he says, over and over again.

…

It was a cliché to say she had never looked more beautiful to him in that moment, because in actual fact, she has never been more physically disgusting, covered in sweat, muck, and tears. But in her arms she holds something precious, a sleeping baby, a newborn, and it was _his_, they were both _his_. He kisses the soft head of the infant first, seeing, from the corner of his eye, the peaceful look upon his wife's face. He then reaches up to kiss her, her lips wet and new tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She is happy, and that is what makes her beautiful to him.

…

She laughs, face pink, mouth grinning, as the snowball hits him square in the face. He blinks, then with a mock roar of rage, he suddenly launches himself after her, armed with a handful of retaliation snow. They chase and end up in a heap of limbs on the ground, the snow seeping in. Soon, it turns from a fight of snow to a battle of lips, although neither party quite remembers when the change occurs.

…

He laughs at the sight of her, covered in mud, bruises and humiliation. She glowers back at him, forcing stiff limbs to cooperate so as to walk closer to him, evil intent in her eyes. Before she can so much as open her mouth angrily, he cuts her off, stepping forward to claim her with his arms and lips before she works herself up too much. Funnily enough, she forgets why she was angry in the first place when they finally part.

…


End file.
